


Nothing to Do and Even Less to Lose

by BasilHellward



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffyverse
Genre: Bickering, Ghost Spike, M/M, Neck Kissing, S5 E07 ‘Lineage’, Swearing, Wordcount: Over 1.000, is dubcon kissing a thing lmao, theyre so married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-06 20:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilHellward/pseuds/BasilHellward
Summary: Angel eyes him warily. Spike grins at him in turn, tongue behind his teeth. It never failed to work its charm on Angelus and Spike’s willing to wager it’ll have Angel just as weak at the knees.





	Nothing to Do and Even Less to Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charleyxavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleyxavier/gifts).



> [Shows up 20 years late to the fandom holding Starbucks] Guess who’s got more dumb vampires to ship? Clue: it’s me. 
> 
> Thank you to my friend Charley for beta-ing and for introducing me to BtVS and Angel (which I’m sure he regrets now because I won’t stop spamming him).
> 
> Any spelling mistakes/grammatical errors are my own, please point it out if you spot one. Constructive criticism is also welcome! Enjoy :)

The Wolfram and Hart office is, predictably, much livelier at night. Well, perhaps ‘lively’ isn’t quite the word for it, what with all the fangs and spooks hanging about. 

Ain’t much fun being the latter. Spike’s gotten pretty good at lifting cups he supposes — hell, he punched a sodding robot in the face earlier. Never a dull moment here at Evil Incorporated. But even so, Spike’s bloody well had enough of floating around useless. Doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it for.

Fred, bless her heart, tried her damndest to put him back on the mortal coil, so to speak, but then Pavayne went and bollocksed it up. Don’t get him wrong, Spike wouldn’t change his choice if he had the chance, but it’s still bloody disappointing to come so close to being tangible just to fall flat on his phantom arse, back at square one. He reckons Angel could do with a little re-motivation to find him another solution.

Wesley mopes past him at reception on his way out of Angel’s office. Poor bastard looks miserable and he only _thought_ he shot his father.

“Heard what happened up top. Offin’ your dad an’ all,” Spike says, getting to his feet as Wesley stops to listen. “I don’t know if you know this, but, uh, I killed my mum. Actually, I’d already killed her, then she tried to shag me, so I had to...” He mimes a staking motion. 

Wesley holds his hands up and takes a step back. “Thank you. I’m... very comforted,” he says, looking very much uncomfortable. “Right.”

He continues on down the hall towards the lifts. Spike shrugs and walks through the wall to Angel’s office to find him poring over some demon legend or other.

“Evenin’, grandsire.” 

“What is it, Spike?” he says without looking up. “Oh, wait, I don’t care. Get out.”

Spike tuts and makes his way across the room to hover over Angel’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, mate. S’that any way to treat your fellow vampire with a soul?”

“You’re not my ‘fellow’ anything. Last I checked, you’re not even a vampire.” 

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Spike says. He stares at his hand on the desk he’s not really touching and concentrates until he can feel the wood beneath his palm then rhythmically drums his fingers against it. 

Angel, bloody drama queen that he is, sighs despite having no need to breathe and slams his book shut. “What do you want?” 

“Bein’ able to drink, smoke, and shag again’d be nice.” 

“Look, I’m... I’m glad you chose saving Fred over becoming corporeal again,” he says, spitting the words out quickly like they’re burning his tongue, “but I don’t know what you expect me to do. Fred said—“

“Yeah, I already heard the ‘lack of a bleedin’ great big power source’ bit, but there’s gotta be a spell o-or something. Ask Head Boy, he’s in charge of the Hoodoo Department, in’t he?” 

“Wes is head of the research department.”

“Well, there you go, then. He can research me up a spell.” 

“Spike...” Angel says, massaging his temples, the ponce. Anyone here should have a headache, it should be Spike, concentrating hard as he is just to get on Angel’s nerves. Might be time he ups the ante.

“Alright,” he says, “this ain’t working. Guess I’ll have to persuade you some other way.”

Angel eyes him warily. Spike grins at him in turn, tongue behind his teeth. It never failed to work its charm on Angelus and Spike’s willing to wager it’ll have Angel just as weak at the knees.

He leans down, his mouth by Angel’s ear, and they’re both as surprised as the other when his nose bumps against Angel’s cheek. Spike must’ve wanted this more badly than he’d admitted to himself: reality bends to desire and all that.

He collects his wits and leans further, his lips brushing across Angel’s jaw and then his neck. Angel doesn’t move away and that’s another welcome surprise. Spike presses one firm kiss, testing, and then opens his mouth against the pulseless veins.

”Spike,” Angel growls low in his throat. Spike can almost feel the vibration on his tongue. It’s a warning, one Spike’s heard a thousand times even if he hasn’t heard it in a while, but what’s Angel gonna do? Hit him? Fat chance. Even if he _could_ lay a hand on Spike, it wouldn’t do much to put him off and Angel knows it. He could get up and walk away though, and Spike couldn’t do anything to stop him.

Either it doesn’t occur to Angel that he could simply leave, or he doesn’t want Spike to stop. In any case, he stays put.

Spike hums at the imagined taste of his skin and the familiar scent of the cologne he’s been wearing since the bloody nineteen hundreds. He’d never say so out loud to anyone or he’d have to throttle ‘em and break his shiny new no-killing rule, but he’d missed the scent, found it comforting. Still does when he breathes it in now — or tries to. Bloody infuriating, it is, to be here but barely able to sense anything without knackering himself.

He hears a quiet sound: clipped and aborted from Angel’s throat as Spike sucks the skin there, feels Angel’s throat work as he swallows beneath Spike’s lips. It’s followed by a louder protest Spike doesn’t listen to and which dies on Angel’s lips when Spike grazes his teeth against his skin.

“Get off me,” Angel tries again. This time he gets the sentence out, at least. He’d said it in that authoritative tone that might work on Percy or Gunn, but Spike’s never bowed and scraped in his unlife and he’s not about to start now.

Spike licks a path to Angel’s ear. “Make me,” he says, low and taunting, punctuated with a sharp tug of teeth on Angel’s lobe. He sucks a wet kiss to Angel’s jaw then and moves along further, stopping just short of Angel’s mouth. He waits, and Angel, predictable as he is a moany git, tilts his head to meet him halfway. That’s when Spike withdraws. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t touch me, what with me bein’ all incorporeal an’ that.”

Angel growls wordlessly. He reaches out and lunges forward as though to grab Spike by the shirt and pull him back down, but his hand of course only goes straight through him. Spike cackles gleefully. He’d missed the animal part of Angel he’s been smothering for a century and change. Doesn’t even let it out when he’s keeping the bimbos and himbos of Hollywood safe from things that go bump in the night. No wonder he’s such a miserable sod, it ain’t healthy, bottling things up like that.

“There’s the vamp I love to hate,” he says, giving Angel a grin and a light smack on the cheek. Angel only snarls at him as his hand lingers there for a second. “Right then, I’ll leave you to give Percy a ring about that spell. Ta.”

With a sarcastic salute, Spike disapparates — the only trick he might miss when he’s cured of his ghostly state — and reappears beside Harmony’s desk. She gives a cut-off shriek.

“Oh, Spike, it’s just _you_.”

”Vampire ghost not scary enough for you, love?” he says half-heartedly, watching Angel through his office’s windows.

Angel blinks at the empty space where Spike had stood then brings his fist down hard on the desk. He sighs then and his hand goes to the phone, hovering above it for a moment before lifting it off the hook. “Wes? Hey. Before you go...”

Spike doesn’t hear the rest for Harmony’s squawking. “What is it?” he snaps. “Can’t you see I’m tryin’ to earwig?” 

”You were whispering to Angel for, like, ever.” 

“What about it?” 

”Well, what did you say to him? He looks pretty angry.” 

”He always looks angry, pet,” Spike says. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve a research department to haunt.” 

He wanders off, itching for a smoke and something to do. God, he hates being a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you have a minute, leave a comment telling me what you thought, I'd love to know. Constructive criticism is welcome! If you don't have a minute, just leave kudos ;)


End file.
